


The One in which Phoebe Buffay is Brittany's Mother.

by Kali Cephirot (10AlliraDream84)



Category: Friends, Glee
Genre: AU, Crossover, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10AlliraDream84/pseuds/Kali%20Cephirot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittany loves her mom. She loves daddy, of course, but mom is her best best mom-friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One in which Phoebe Buffay is Brittany's Mother.

**The One in which Phoebe Buffay is Brittany's Mother.**

Brittany loves her mom. She loves her mom more than she loves chocolate chip cookies and red Lucky Charm marshmallows. She loves daddy, of course, but mom is her best friend – well, Santana is her best friend, but mom is her best mom-friend. 

Her mom is funny and smart and she always smells nice and it's thanks to her mom that Brittany loves music, because her mom loves music too: when she was little, they'd sing about everything and anything they did together. Bubble soaps and the scent of grass recently mowed and how great it feels to walk under the rain. Her mom is like this amazing force of nature that can make up songs about anything.

Brittany's favorite mom-song is Smelly Cat, though. When she gets Lord Tubbington when she's ten, Brittany sings it to him every night before he goes to sleep, like a lullaby.

And well, because his poop is smelly. Wouldn't it be nice if he could poop chocolate instead of poop? Her mom says yes, yes it would be.

*

Brittany loves her daddy too. He's the one who teaches her to waltz, and the one who takes her to ballet lessons when she's five, and then to jazz lessons and he promises to buy her ruby red shoes like Dorothy, but Brittany doesn't like The Wizard of Oz very much (it makes her sad, how the witch melts, and it's kind of mean being happy when someone dies even if you don't like them).

“Well, baby, what do you want, then?” he asks her. Mom is singing in the kitchen and Brittany hums with her: she doesn't know the words because it's a new mom-song, but the melody is easy. Bum-bum, yeah yeah, bum.

“Can I have some ice cream for supper?” She asks.

Her father laughs, presses a kiss against her forehead.

“How about, for dessert?”

*

Brittany always knew that she liked boys and girls: for her it seems a little strange, really, that some people don't, but she's used to people being strange. Mom says that it's because they have very sad, very odd souls, but when Brittany asks if she has an odd soul too, mom just giggles and scrunches her nose with her laugh before she touches her face.

“No, sweetie. You're a new soul. Like your uncle Joey.”

She thinks about it for a moment before she shrugs and just accepts it because she likes uncle Joey, even if he always eats all the bread sticks when he comes visit.

But the point is, it takes Brittany a long, long time to realize that the fact that she likes boys and girls is something she has to tell, something she has to warn because it's not something dangerous or anything. Eating daddy's super special secret chicken extravaganza? Now _that_ requires a warning, especially if you're going to do exercise after that.

But Kurt is one of the smartest people she knows, almost as smart as Becky is, and he says its important to be honest, and Brittany doesn't like lying, not to anyone, especially not to her mom and dad, so one Friday night she's home, laying on the rug and eating apple circles with her mom braiding her hair and dad half looking through the newspaper that she remembers she promised she'd tell.

“Mom, dad? I like boys and I like girls.”

Her mom doesn't even stop braiding her hear.

“I like turtles and crabs, but turtles are prettier.”

“Do they have blue shells? I like blue more than green.”

“But wouldn't that get confusing? Blue water, blue shells... ”

“That's why we decorate them. We can put ruffles on them.”

“That's a good idea! Then we could ride them!”

“Can Santana come?”

“Of course she can, sweetie, what a question. I'll call her mom.”

Her dad is laughing, warm and fond and Brittany loves her daddy's laughter. Daddy doesn't always understand what she and her mom talk about. Daddy's soul isn't as odd as some other people's soul, but his isn't the same soul that she and mom have.

“Daddy, you don't mind if Santana comes, do you?”

Her dad pulls her into his lap, hugging her.

“You love her, right?”

Brittany leans her head against her dad's shoulder, wishing she was tiny again: she still climbs on his lap all the time and her dad still tells her stories when she asks, but she misses feelings like this, completely and absolutely safe. 

“More than I love ice-cream, dad.”

“That is a lot,” her dad nods, leaning his head against hers. “Does Santana love you back?”

It's another silly question, even if it hurts a little, because she knows that Santana loves her, Santana has told her that herself, but she still doesn't want to be with her. 

Still, mom has told her that there are things parents, especially daddies, don't want to know – her dad made a lot of fun faces when she and mom did the Period Song, after all – so she just nods.

“She does, daddy.”

Her dad kisses her forehead again.

“Then, of course I don't mind.”

*

Her mom squeals out loud when she tells her the Glee Club is going to New York, jumping up and down and clapping.

“You have to go to Central Perk! Oh oh oh and I'm giving you so many letters you need to take! Oh oh oh! You should stay with your aunt Rachel and Ross! Emma is your age, she can show you around! I bet you're going to be best friends in three seconds! ”

“I have an aunt Rachel in New York?” Brittany cocks her head to the side: she has heard uncle Joey and mom talking about her, but frankly, she always thought they were talking about Glee Club Rachel. “She's not tiny sized and a jew, is she?”

“No, sweetie, _that_ is your aunt Monica, but she lives in New Jersey.”

“I like jerseys, but not the wooly type,” Brittany scrunches her nose. “They're itchy.”

Her mom nods wisely at that.

“And that's how I know you are my daughter.”


End file.
